Page 43 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

Julian’s lips curved, pleased. “Exactly. You’re different.”

Kaylani leaned in slightly. “You don’t want different, Julian.”

His eyes gleamed. “I want rare.”

My stomach turned.

Rare. Like a gemstone dug from the earth. Like she was something to be displayed. Collected.

“You keep the right people close. That’s smart,” Julian noted, deliberately looking in my direction, taking his time as the implication settled between us. Neither of us reacted to the veiled inquiry.

“I keep people close who have earned it,” Kaylani said with a smirk. “Those who have proven their loyalty. You should be able to appreciate that.” She tossed his words back at him, and I wanted to kiss her for it.

“Of course. How wise.”

Julian rolled his shoulders as if he had just taken the hit on the chin, but would remember it for a long time. He was as deadly as the snake tattooed on his skin, and in that moment, I had never been so happy that Kaylani had married me.

Even if we could never be together, she had purchased an insurance policy for herself. Anyone who wanted her hand had to go through me first. And this guy…he wasn’t getting anywhere near her.

Not ever.

Chapter

Thirteen

KAYLANI

The conversation dragged on like a slow, suffocating death. Julian certainly knew how to talk about himself. He embodied everything I hated about this world.

I didn’t snap. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel. I stayed calm, measured, asking questions that forced him to show his edges.

Every answer he gave was polished. Smooth enough to slide past anyone who wasn’t listening closely.

But I was listening.

Every time I pressed, he pressed back harder. Never overtly. Never enough to be called rude. Our conversation felt like a duel fought with smiles instead of blades. No blood on the floor. Just a constant, relentless pressure.

Throughout lunch, I could feel Goran without looking. His presence was a steady reminder that I was safe. He didn’t move or show any emotion, but Julian’s gaze kept drifting his way.

Good. Fuck Julian.

Halfway through the meal, Julian’s demeanor shifted, like he had been waiting for a precise moment. I found myself glancing at the door, then toward the window, half expecting my father to make a surprise appearance.

What I hadn’t been expecting was for Julian to reach into his jacket and pull out a small velvet box. He set it down on the table like a loaded gun and slid it toward me.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t touch it. I just stared at it as if it might bite.

“I don’t do theatrics,” Julian said calmly, as if that somehow made this better. “Please, open it.”

I placed my fingertips on the box and lifted the lid. The ring caught the light instantly. It was the largest diamond I had ever seen in a band. It looked like someone had chipped a chunk of ice off an iceberg. Not just big. Massive. The definition of excess.

It wasn’t designed to be worn. It was designed to be seen.

A public claim.

My pulse thudded in my ears as I stared at the diamond, its weight obvious without lifting it. This was a statement. A marker. A way to make sure everyone knew exactly who I belonged to from fifty feet away. The kind of thing that would dominate headlines, along with our engagement.